


Things That Happen To Other People

by feverbeats



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-01
Updated: 2011-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:19:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feverbeats/pseuds/feverbeats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Either I kept my mouth shut and wound up being quite unhappy, or opened it and fucked up all three of our lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Happen To Other People

I was just fourteen when my mum fucked off properly. I stayed in our flat until I couldn't afford the rent, and then I stayed on the street. It wasn't as bad as it sounds. I wasn't brilliant or anything, but I was smart enough to get by picking pockets till my voice changed and I could fake being old enough for a real job.

I never really went back to school. I learned a few things from the small-time gangsters, though, and that was enough to get me set up with some odd jobs for them. It kept me going, and Fred always welcomed me at the Speeler.

Oh, yeah. Guess I should tell you the relevant facts: Kevin. Last name redacted. In my thirties, now. Involved in a thing I'm about to tell you about. This is just the background, but not all of it's important.

I always kept my head down and my mouth shut. I was big enough even then that I could scare off anyone who'd want to fuck with me. People liked me well enough, or at least they tolerated me. I got by.

Then I met Ian Macaulay.

Ian Macaulay was everything I wasn't. He was loud and difficult and in the market for trouble. We met when he punched me in the nose over a football match. It only took ten minutes or so for me to bring him back to the Speeler and get him a drink.

Fred nodded to me when I came in. "Kev. Who's your friend?"

Ian doesn't go by Ian, of course. Didn't even then. He told me, rather fiercely, that in Scotland--where he'd been until last week--he'd been called One Two. I smiled and rubbed my bruised cheekbone. Fair enough.

"One Two," I muttered, feeling silly about it.

Fred laughed. "Yeah? Well, have a drink, One Two." He didn't ask how old One Two was, which I thought was nice. Turned out later he was seventeen, just like me.

It took less than a day before Ian took to calling me Mumbles.

"'m not that hard to understand," I said when Ian announced this. I ducked my head to inspect my sleeve.

Ian just laughed. "Yeah, say it again. And this time, project."

And just like that, we were best mates.

We did jobs together, because it turned out Ian needed money. His dad wasn't around either, although his mum was a constant presence in his life. She didn't like me, which was okay with Ian, because it gave him a partner in crime in that respect as well.

I had a few other friends I'd picked up along the way, but Ian eclipsed all of them. He was all I needed to do jobs well, and all I needed to have what I considered a busy social life. Sol and Vinny called me up sometimes, but eventually even they stopped. I felt--still feel--odd about leaving them for Ian, for a couple of reasons I'd rather not get into because they should be obvious. Point is, Ian and I fit together like puzzle pieces.

We went out cruising for women together, me going home with tough girls with tattoos while Ian went home with posh Southern girls. My girls smashed my heart when I got too invested too quickly. Ian's girls smashed his nose just to get their kicks.

"Always the rich ones," I told him, eying a fresh set of bruises on his side. "Why does that go together, mad and rich? Or do you just pick both on purpose?"

"As if I enjoy this," Ian groused, shoving his shirt back down.

So yeah, I grew up, working with Ian. From seventeen on, I got less shy with new people. And I learned to make shy look like scary, instead. I learned how a sense of humor worked, too. Everything in my life was just that much easier.

There were, of course, occasional hiccups. There was the time they two of us went out drinking at a bar that wasn't the Speeler and both got left by the girls we were trying to pick up. It was getting quite late, and the bar was emptying out, so we headed outside, both too drunk to walk straight.

We made it halfway down the street before Ian fell against the wall next to a shop, clutching at my sleeve.

"I am so fucking drunk," he said unnecessarily.

I laughed, tired and off guard. Ian's fingers tangled in mine, and before I knew it, we were around in the corner in the alley, pressed against each other. Ian's body was warm and solid, and he was half tugging me against him, while I was half pushing him against the wall. _Something isn't right here,_ I thought dimly.

Ian's mouth was centimeters from mine, but I moved, putting my hand on his shoulder instead. _Safer_ , my brain insisted, under the alcohol. _Won't cause trouble tomorrow._

Ian's hands were at my waist, fumbling with my belt, but I pressed closer so his hands were trapped between us. _This doesn't count_ , I told myself, but somehow my knee had got between Ian's legs. Ian made a sound deep in this throat and jerked his hips against me, hands pressing flat against my stomach.

"Oh, God," I muttered. I realized we couldn't exactly play chicken much longer, so I made a quick decision and shoved my hand between our bodies to rub the front of Ian's jeans. I wondered if I should have seen it coming.

Ian cried out and pulled me against him, rubbing our cocks together through two layers of fabric. It occurred to me that Ian was far drunker than I was, or he wouldn't have been doing any of it. The friction wasn't enough, but I wasn't going to fuck up years of friendship by unzipping my jeans. I cupped Ian through them and angled my hips against his. He just pushed himself back against the wall and moaned, biting his lip.

I rolled my hips, fighting for a better angle against Ian's body, free hand braced against the wall by his head. "Fuck," I whispered.

It seemed like a fucking year before Ian shuddered, hips bucking before he went still. I was so close. I rubbed against his hip a few more time, hand working furiously against the front of my jeans. I pulled away from him as soon as I finished.

"Fuck," Ian muttered. "Let's go home."

The next morning, he didn't mention it, so I didn't mention it.

Aside from that, though, we were a fucking well-oiled machine. I loved the way we were together and the way we worked together. Things were more than good; they were fantastic. Ian Macaulay filled in all the holes in my life.

Robert Wells tore them wide open again.

I was sitting in the Speeler, minding my own fucking business, when Ian walked in with his arm around some kid. The kid had huge eyes, barely any hair, and a button-down shirt that was a size too big. He smiled crookedly at me.

"Evening, One Two." I said, directing the greeting toward Ian's ear.

"Look what I've found," Ian said proudly, pushing the kid forward.

I couldn't help smirking. "Why, it's a little child. How sweet."

Ian glowered at me. "Oi, he ain't a little child. He's Robert. He's eighteen and he goes to school."

"Yeah? And what do we want with that?"

Apparently, Ian had picked the kid up in a bar and thought he was funny. He'd been planning on conning him 'cause he looked rich, but he'd ended up listening to the boy go on about law instead. Only Ian would have picked a law student to bring into the criminal underworld.

I watched for three days while Robert--I quickly amended it to Bob--flirted shamelessly with Ian, touching him every chance he got. I watched while Fred finally took the boy aside and explained things to him. I watched while Ian made an offhand comment about fags and Bob fled.

I watched while Ian brought Bob back three hours later. Bob was holding flowers and didn't look like he'd been crying.

"Flowers?" I asked Ian.

"Mumbles, my friend, nothing is too good for our new associate," Ian said cheerfully.

So there was that.

Bob was infuriatingly good at what he did, even then. He was also impossible to hate. I tried valiantly for a week or so, until Bob saved my life from a gunman who wasn't interested in having his shipment of drugs nicked and transported. Bob hit the man in the head with a crowbar and proceeded to panic about whether he'd killed him. I was delighted. Tough, but not mad. That was rare enough, especially in our world.

The night Bob decided to drop out of university, I took him aside.

"Listen," I said, "I know it's none of my business, but I just want to make sure you're doing this for the right reasons."

Bob wouldn't look me in the eye. We were in the back room of the Speeler, and the low light made Bob's lashes look even longer than usual. He'd certainly earned the nickname Fred had bestowed on him. "I'm doing it because I'm fed up with school," he said softly. "It's not what I really want after all. Besides, you know I could use the money. My mum's got so many bills--"

"Yeah, but be honest." I laid my hand on Bob's arm. "That's not the only thing."

Bob sighed and looked up at me. "Fuck. Please don't tell him. Or anyone."

 _Anyone_ probably consisted of Fred and Cookie, and I was pretty sure they already knew, but I nodded. "'Course not. Don't you worry, it'll be our little secret. Just don't get hung up on him and let it fuck up your life."

Bob hesitated for a second like he was about to say something else, but instead he just said, "Thanks. I won't."

That's how I wound up getting close with Bob. I ended up as sort of confident whenever Bob had a relationship that was going particularly badly or particularly well, which was about what Ian and I talked about most of the time. So, that seemed normal enough. If I had to hear a few more details of Bob's sex life than I'd have liked, well, that was just being a good friend.

When Bob lost yet another boyfriend because he wouldn't get romantic with him, he came to me practically in tears over it.

I bought him a drink and put my arm around him. "Look, mate, it's still not my business, but if you like One Two that much, why don't you just say so?"

"Oh, right," Bob said, wiping his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. "Because that would go fantastically well. He'd never speak to me again, Mumbles."

I wondered. See, I'd witnessed the way Ian got when Bob brought a "friend" around, or when he spent too long chatting Archy up. Ian would've said he had no idea what Bob was up to, but he still got worked up over it. I sighed. "Yeah, okay. Want another drink?"

Bob shook his head. "Nah. Can be just go back to your place or something?"

Warning bells were going off in my head, but I ignored them. As soon as we got in the door, Bob pushed me against the table and kissed me.

"Easy," I said, alarmed. Neither of us was even drunk. "I don't think you mean that."

"Tonight, I do." Bob kissed me again, this time with teeth.

And I let him, because . . . because. Because Bob was my friend. Because it felt nice. Because Ian wasn't around. Because I was good at making stupid choices, mainly. That's what I told myself at the time, anyhow.

I found out a few things about Bob's preferences that night, most of which aren't relevant details. I did take note of the fact that he liked holding people down, mostly because I knew how well that would dovetail with Ian's habits. Don't ask me why I knew so much about Ian's habits, either.

When I woke up the next morning, Bob was gone. He showed up a day later with a new boy on his arm. He wouldn't look at me for a week, so I hung around Ian and made excuses.

There was a lot of other nasty stuff that happened between then and the time Bob finally came clean with Ian. Ian and I both did time in jail, mostly because we were stupid enough to get caught. Ian bounced back after a few weeks of freedom. I'm still not sure how I took it. All right, I suppose. Must have done.

Oh yeah, and Ian's mum died. That was a bit of a blow to all of us. He was gone when it happened.

Anyhow, even after Bob told Ian how he felt and we all nearly died a few more times, I still honestly didn't expect anything to change. I did my best to downplay the whole business, because if there was one thing I hated, it was people causing trouble over nothing.

I told myself it was nothing. That it had always been nothing.

The next six months were fucking weird. Bob and Ian kept dancing around each other, Bob stealing kisses, Ian letting him and then backing off, on and on like that. I was mostly amused, but I was also a bit annoyed. I wished they'd just stop fucking about and go for it, because I'd always known they would.

Finally, Bob came to me, looking like was about to cry. I'd only ever seen him get that way over Ian, so I already assumed Ian'd had another gay panic and fled from Bob's latest attempt to get friendly.

"You okay?" I asked.

Bob broke into a brilliant, crooked smile. "You probably don't want to hear this, but I finally got through to him. Last night, we--You know. And when I woke up, he was still there. I just can't fucking believe this. Sorry, I'm getting all emotional."

 _Sinking feeling_ didn't really begin to cover it. "Oh," I said. "Yeah, finally." I tried to smile. "Well done, Bob."

And just like that, I couldn't ignore it anymore. So that was it. Either I kept my mouth shut and wound up being quite unhappy, or opened it and fucked up all three of our lives.

I spent a week avoiding Bob and Ian, which was easy, because they were hidden together most of the time. Ian rang me once, though.

"It's fucking mad, isn't it?" he said when I picked up. "Me, a poof. Who would have thought?"

"I am fucking amazed that you're so fucking amazed," I told him, forcing myself to sound cheerful. "Everyone knew about Bob except you, and everyone knew about you except Bob."

"Hilarious," Ian said after a brief pause. "See you."

When a whole week had gone by, I couldn't stand it anymore. I took myself to Ian's house and waited for him to buzz me in, trying to decide what to say.

I felt like an idiot. What was I meant to say? "I love you" seemed a bit silly after all these years and being best mates and all. "I want you" just seemed weird. So when Ian opened the door, I just said, "Remember that night in the alley?"

Ian paused with the door half open. "What?"

"No fucking about. Yes or no?"

Ian frowned. Then he said, "Yes."

Some things with feelings involved happened, which means I'd rather not go into detail. Ian might have gotten a bit teary, but he does that. Then I had to talk to Bob, which was equally full of feelings. And shouting. At Ian, mostly. For being thick, I think. Thankfully, I wasn't heavily involved in that part.

Which brings us right up to where we are, which is all three on Ian's couch, watching a film together. Ian's hand is in Bob's front pocket, just resting there, but like he's considering feeling him up any time now. His other hand is on my knee. He gets nearly as proprietary as Bob does, and that's saying something.

I've no idea if this is going to work. It's sort of a novel concept, dating both your best mates at once. I've nearly done similar things in the past, but the point is, this is different. We're a team and all that. Point is, we're trying. If Bob and I can put up with Ian's social-climber decor, Ian and I can put up with Bob making eyes at half the blokes in the city. I suppose they'll both have to put up with me liking them too much for my own good and refusing to talk about my feelings.

I think we'll manage.


End file.
